The Sins of the Father
by K.A.Shepherd
Summary: Meet 19 yr old Michael Scofield Jr; a handsome, highly respected student, reliable friend, and wonderful son. His life seems to have an express train up, right? Until, he receives a letter from his supposedly dead father, Michael Scofield Sr. All in all, Michael Jr find himself in breaking his father out of a maximum security prison as well as learning the infamous Michael Scofield
1. Signed, Michael Scofield

"... Mom! Mom!" Called the baritone voice from the kitchen. Sara's motherly footsteps approached, hands on her hips.

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"Do you want macaroni and cheese or pasta?" He asked, not looking at her and focused on seasoning the chicken to his best ability.

"Macaroni and cheese. You've failed, Michael!" She said, peeking over his shoulder to find the chicken, "We had a deal, no meat for a week and you failed." She pointed.

"Technically, I didn't."

Sara paused.

"Uh, yeah you did." She slipped into the wooden kitchen chair with a condescending smile on her face.

"Give me a second. I've got to put this chicken in the oven." Sara waited patiently to see if her son had some kind of evidence to expose her deeds. He washed his hands, dried and pulled out his smartphone.

"How do you explain this?"

Sara's eyes widened at the image of her sneaking a piece of fried chicken into her watery mouth by the kitchen sink. At the angle it was shot, it looked at as if the camera was so conveniently placed above her in the corner. Yet another defeat by her 19 year old son. She scoffed, giving up before she started to defend herself.

"Looks like we can't give up the meat in the house, so why try? Right?" His sly voice coated the room and he slid back to the counter rolling in his victory.

"Alright, alright, alright... you got me. Great, now I'm going to have watch one of your crazy animes. For how long again?"

"A week of anime. You'll be fine. Boy, I'm sure glad I set up those cameras. I knew you were going to crack, mom. It's okay." He laughed.

"Oh joy. This should be interesting."

A knock at the door stopped their conversation, and Sara headed to open it. Lincoln stood with a large, overwhelmingly heavy box and he placed it down on the floor without greeting Sara.

"What's-what's all of this?" Bewildered, she watched Lincoln's deep breathing.

"It's MJ's tools. I had to clean out the garage and it's been a pain in the ass. Found his box, figured Mikey needs it. Is he here?" Sara closed the door, and snooped into the box briefly.

"He's in the kitchen. You know how he loves to cook."

"Hey, kid." Lincoln affectionately patted his nephew's back.

"Hey Uncle Linc. How's it going?"

"Good, good. How's school?" Lincoln casually found his way to the refrigerator and pulled out a cold beer.

"School is school. Nothing new. I received a third scholarship today."

"He's been doing so great in school." Sara said, proudly as she leaned on the archway of the kitchen.

"I figure I snatch a couple of scholarships and grants so it'll be easy on mom."

"Honey, we have more than enough. Don't worry about me." She said, placing a nurturing peck on his cheek.

"Just like his dad..." Lincoln blurted out; Sara felt a tingle in her stomach. Anytime Michael is even remotely mentioned, she still sees the vision of his reddened lips uttering the very words she'd never wished would be said.

"Yup... just like his dad." Sara sat in the same chair and Lincoln joined her.

Michael stared down at the pasta with an unsettling feeling. The other night, he had a dream about a shadowed man standing over his bed saying "_Have" _repeatedly. He wondered if the man would say anything other than that. Awkwardly, he felt this man was extremely familiar. He pulled himself out of his thoughts and turned to his uncle.

"How's the wedding plans going?" He asked; Lincoln's stressed sigh clarified they weren't sailing so smooth.

"Ah, Sofia's been walking around aggravated ever since she found out about the twins. Fighting with me, she says my life is my job and I need to be home with her more often. Which, is true but, I mean someone has to bring the bacon home right? ... And everytime I come home I have to go back outside because she ate up all the food. She's like jabba the hut." Michael chuckled. Anytime Michael asked Lincoln how he was doing, a therapy session would commence but Michael didn't mind. He loved his Uncle's honesty and for that, he tried to help him through his issues; whatever they were.

"She's scared. I mean, you guys are having twins. That'll scare the hell out of me. She feels alone because you're rarely around. If you spend more time with her, work with the wedding planning, and then she'll tone down the fighting. She just might have you in mind before she pulls out the next twinkie and save you some." He joked.

"... You should be a psychiatrist. You're good at this kid." He replied and took another swig from the beer.

"Maybe you're right... it'll work. Buy her something thoughtful. Something that she likes, because she wouldn't be expecting that. Roses, chocolate; it's all cliche. Think way back to revitalize the relationship. She'd feel special." Sara had a twinkle showed she was delighted to hear her son speaking like a true gentleman.

"Good idea, kid."

"I know. You should stay for dinner, there's no food in your house. You'll be starving with a crazed pregnant woman." Michael's sardonic chuckle made Lincoln laugh.

Lincoln assisted Sara in setting up the table for dinner and Michael flicked on the stereo system to play very smooth spanish music. He loved the Buena Vista Social Club; he'd often listen to their music while studying and it helped him perfect his spanish.

He stopped and stared at the fourth plate, "Someone's coming over?" a curious tone underlying his comment.

"Craig, remember?"

"Oh, him..." Michael continued to the kitchen and Sara following, intending on interrogating him.

"I know you don't like him... I get that. But, you should give him a chance. He's a really nice guy."

"Yeah, he is a nice guy. Real sweet guy. But, is he reliable? Is he dependable? Is he safe to have around? Can he be trusted? I have so many questions that need answering." Sara sighed. He turned to her with sincere eyes, "Look mom, I get you're fond of him. And I'm glad he's coming over tonight. But, don't expect me to let some random guy in so quickly. You're my mom, the first woman I've ever loved and if something happens to you, I have no problem having blood on my hands." Michael's love fueled arms wrapped around Sara and she noticed how bulky he got. Michael grew from a little boy with snot running from his button nose to a 6'3 man with chest hair. There were days she couldn't believe how fast he grew and that's why she embraced it.

"I know, honey. I know." She said whispering into his ears, sniffing in the scent of his Calvin Klein cologne. Compromising, they joined Lincoln back in the dining room with the food and a sudden light knock came from the front door. Sara went to answer. A lanky, considerably attractive hispanic male stood with a dozen of roses and a grand smirk on his face.

Michael rolled his eyes, "So typical." He murmured. Sara and Craig shared a hug and a small kiss before he entered the house.

"Where are you coming from?" Sara asked, analyzing his businessman attire.

"A board meeting. I've gotten tons to tell you." His utterance nearly irritated Michael; he had a posh demeanor about him.

_You could have done better, mom. _He thought.

"Craig, this is Lincoln. My brother and you remember Michael Jr." Craig shook Lincoln's rugged hands and they exchange a plastic smile. Michael nodded, gesturing a hello and didn't go any further.

"So, let's eat!" Sara said, excited and proceeded to sit down.

"Oh, sweetheart-"

_Sweetheart? _

"-Where's the bathroom? I've got to wash my hands." Sara pointed to the end of the first floor hallway and he made his way there.

"What kind of man washes his hands before eating?" Lincoln murmured to Michael.

"A joke, that's the kind." Michael scoffed.

"You guys! Cut it out." Sara hissed across the table.

"We're just pointing out the obvious." Lincoln's shrugged irritated Sara more but all she could do was laugh.

"Give him a chance." She stressed.

"Mom, stop. It sounds like you're trying to sell me something from a paid program."

"Ugh! Okay, fine!"

Craig appeared and sat across from Michael with a sardonic smirk on his face. Michael exchanged one as well.

"So, where are you from?" Lincoln asked, hovering over his food like a prisoner.

"I was born and raised in California. When I turned 3 my parents moved back here, to Panama and I've been living here ever since."

"Man, I miss California. Pretty cool place. Crappy traffic though."

"Yes, I'll be going back there soon. Maybe we can all go there for vacation." Craig's response itched on Michael to say something but he held back. He wanted to test the waters.

"What do you do again?"

"Ha, well, I have a few jobs: I'm the owner of a well established real estate company, owner of a law firm, and stock broker." Michael widened his eyes.

"Wow, so you never have any time. There's a lot of movement. How'd you get into it?" He swapped another bite from his chicken, peering into Craig's eyes, relentlessly.

"My father passed down the real estate company to me when I turned 18 after he passed away. Then, I just began to look into more opportunities and branched from there."

The fact that Craig had three businesses to run, washed his hands before eating, puts a tissue to cover his beer, and brought his mother flowers were all red flags to Michael. Craig wasn't the man for the job.

"Cool. How'd you two meet?"

"Lots of questions huh? Ha-ha. Um-"Craig cleared his throat a bit nervously, "We met at a charity convention. She was the prettiest girl in the entire building." Craig twinkled his eyes at Sara and squeezed her delicate hand slightly.

"You mean woman... she was the prettiest woman in the entire building." Michael corrected.

Awkward silence.

"Yes, precisely..."

"So, do you watch sports?" Lincoln asked, alleviating the weird moment.

The dinner had random moments of silence due to Michael's interrogative nature. Sara kissed Craig good-bye and stormed into the kitchen where Lincoln and Michael joked, drunkenly.

"Why'd you have to treat him like that?" She asked, hands clutching her hips.

"How did I treat him?" Michael's innocent tone aggravated Sara intensely.

"You know how, Michael. Don't play dumb with me. Why'd you interrogate him like that?"

"How else am I suppose to get to know the man that my mother's into, if I don't ask questions? You wanted me to give him a chance, right?"

"Right, but-"

Michael interrupted in a silky voice, "-So, I did. I don't see how this could be an issue. Do you want to know how he did?"

She stared with hooded eyes waiting for his answer.

"He did awful."

"How?!"

"Mom, there was a ridiculous amount of red flags in the whole conversation. He came with flowers, strike one. He washed his hands before using the bathroom-"

"THAT'S SANITARY!" She shouted.

"-That's strike two. He placed a tissue over his beer, that's strike three. He runs three companies. A man with a busy schedule like that isn't looking for a wife. He's looking for a booty-call..."

"Michael, you're being ridiculous! He was a good guy, you just want to hinder me."

"No. I'm trying to help you... my father didn't save us for no reason." Now, that comment shocked Sara and Lincoln both; Michael never mentioned his father. Besides being shocking, it also indicated that Michael had a little too much to drink.

"... My father, he saved me to protect you. I understand your desire for a companion. I get that. But, all I ask is for you to try not to disregard my opinion. If I see something that isn't right, I feel like it's only right to tell you what's not right." Sara stood there, in a fit of emotions. Not being able to respond, she walked off, leaving Lincoln and Michael alone.

"Hey kid, you're done for the night." Lincoln slide Michael's beer to him and finished the rest of it. Michael didn't argue.

"... You never mention your father... why not?"

"... I don't feel the need to wake the dead, is all. He's my father. That's all I know."

"No... you know more than that. He's a hero-"

"Okay, you don't have to give me the famous speech, Uncle Linc. I know what he did and who he was according to you and everyone else. You guys talk about him like I'm supposed to walk in his footsteps. I'm myself. I'm Michael River Scofield, Jr. I am my father's son but I am not my father." Michael's explanation brought light to the fact that everyone constantly compares Michael Jr to Michael Sr and how much that broke down Michael's identity.

"... I'm-I'm sorry, Michael. I didn't know you felt like that." Lincoln said, not looking in his nephew's eyes.

"... I have to live with the fact that I'm constantly being compared to him everyday, let alone I didn't have the chance to meet him... it's this hole in me that I can never fill. All I have are these pictures and a video of him... that's all I have to fill in the hole of the infamous Michael Scofield... and yet, I know I owe him my life for him saving mines. I feel I pay homage to him by being the best man I can possibly be. Being the best son, nephew, student... whatever. Just the best that I can be..." Michael had never spoken to anyone about how he felt until now, and luckily it was his uncle instead of some random girl whom he fell in love with and who'd leave him in the end.

"I understand." Lincoln changed the subject to Sofia to avoid Michael from being further filled with emotions. Michael had been stoic, just like his father. A man of very few words but the words were important. Lincoln said his good-byes to Michael and Sara and made his way back home.

"... Mom, I'm sorry I came off the way I did-" She shushed him, gleaming into his ocean blue eyes.

"I understand, Michael. I understand. No need to apologize." They shared a settling moment of silence, enjoying each other's company, "... Come on, you've gotten school in the morning. You should get ready for bed." They walked, hand in hand upstairs to retire for the night.

* * *

><p>Afterschool, Michael swayed his tall walk to the Principal Hernandez office. The principal wanted to discuss his position as being the treasury of student government; that he had handpicked Michael specifically for that slot. He didn't trust any of the other students for that part.<p>

"I'll be announcing your position to the student government tomorrow." Principal Hernandez said, with a beaming grin.

"Thank you Principal Hernandez, for this opportunity. I really appreciate it." He shook his hand.

"No problem, Mr. Scofield. You're one of our finest students. We need more students like you around here. Now, I'll see you tomorrow." They departed and Michael made his way to the student postal office. He had expected more news from his bank accounts and other student loans he would have eventually had to pay back. Flicking through the mail, his eyes laid onto a letter that was sent from a prison with very eloquent penmanship. Michael clutched onto the letter, and tore it open. His mind went blank and he shot open the letter that was folded into three sections. Before he read the letter, his eyes started from the ending.

_Signed,  
><em>_Michael Scofield, Sr._

His heart flushed to his throat.


	2. Contents of The Letter

"Hey bro!" A familiar yet sharp hit came to Michael's back; he snapped his head to find Oliver Brimstone, his best friend of 7 years, glowing at him.

"Hey Olly..." He replied, voice stale, and he turned his head back to the letter.

"You okay?" Olly asked, peeking over his shoulders. Michael closed up the letter, abruptly, "Love letter, huh?!" Olly teased.

"Yeah, love letter." Michael ignored Olly's joke, and locked up his mailbox.

"Hey, you want to go to this party tonight? Jillian's throwing it. She's uh, real interested in you."

"Yeah, so?" Michael said dryly, walking slowly, trying to register if he was in reality or not.

"So?! Bro, it's bang bang bang time! She wants to give you the ass." Olly was a party animal and Michael never cared for parties. He couldn't remember the last time he went to one. But every week, Olly wanted to find the sickest parties around. Complete opposites.

"I could care less about her ass. Literally. But, since I know you're not going to leave me alone until I say yes, I'll go." Olly jumped for joy.

"Yes! It's been so long since we hung out bro-"

"Olly we hang out everyday. You mean get wasted. Then yes, it has been a long time since we got pissed drunk stumbling through someone's yard." Michael replied with a snark attitude; Olly never cared about his tone. He knew sometimes Michael could be moody but that was just his personality.

"Awesome! I'll pick you up at 7 okay?"

"That's too early, I've got to study for midterms. Pick me up at 8:30." Michael ordered and walked off, leaving Olly with a huge grin on his face.

The walk home was atrocious. Michael waited to get home to actually indulge himself into the letter. Good thing Sara wasn't there; she knew when something was bothering him although no one could see if Michael was serious or joking. He got that from his father.

"Mom!" He called, just to make sure, "Mom!"

No answer.

Bolting up the steps, he charged into his room, and slammed the door. Carefully placing the letter onto his bed, he stared at it while sitting in his comfortable leather chair. He sat there and examined every single spec of the letter, biting his nails in nervousness. After 20-30 minutes of staring, he pulled himself to open the letter. In it said:

_Dear River,  
>You may be in a state of shock at the moment, and believe me I can fathom your reaction considering it has been quite a long time. I can not express my deepest sympathies enough regarding the distance and the circumstances. It's been hell for me for the past 13 years; the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, I guess. My mind has been stabled for quite some time until a few days ago; it's beginning to drift away, slowly but surely. Your reply would be greatly appreciated and needed, maybe then, I'll captivate what little of my sanity I have left. I look forward to hearing from you and remember to always have a little faith.<em>

_Signed,  
>Michael Scofield<em>

He stood, breathless and his utterance couldn't be processed as well as his thoughts. Could it have really been his father? Or some sick joke? How could he find out the truth? Where the hell is all of this coming from?

Michael sped up to the attic and pulled a dusty box from underneath the shelf. It was a box full of his father's things, and he pulled out the tape and grabbed the tape he watched over and over as a child. His father's face appeared on the screen and Michael ignored the emotions he used to feel while watching and fast forwarded to see if there was anything after Scofield Sr's last words. He waited and waited and suddenly Clint Eastwood's face showed up on the scene. He played it and watched the scene. Clint Eastwood's character was up against a bigger prisoner who was apparently a rapist and intended on attacking him in the court yard of the prison. As soon as the prison guards interfered, the scene blacked out. Michael repeated the scene over and over and somehow, he felt like it was telling him something.

Overwhelmed and brimming with perturbation, he slid to the ground, flickering his eyes and wishing that maybe he was still sleeping; that the whole day was just a dream. Fermenting, he wondered who to blame, what to do. But, he silenced himself and slowed his rapid breathing. When Michael was upset, he'd bang on his punching bag and for that he was muscular and lean. He had a strike diet and schedule. In the moment he was in, he pushed himself down the steps and into the backyard where his punching bag lived and began to hit it like he was trying to murder someone with his bare hands. Over and over, different combinations, kicks and knee highs, Michael evacuated his fit of rage and confusion onto the bag.

He settled down after a few minutes, and scanned the letter again trying and hoping to find a hidden message.

* * *

><p>Sara arrived at the house and found Michael lounging in the living room his father's documents, photos, and clothes scattered on the coffee table.<p>

"Hey honey..." She placed her bag on the coat hanger and frowned, awestruck at what Michael was doing.

"Hey mom, how was work?" He replied in an easygoing tone.

"Fine... uh, what are you up to?" Sara sat next to him and pulled her waist long brown hair behind her ear.

"Researching. Researching about my father."

"Oh... well, do you have a specific question that you'd like to ask that I might have an answer to?" She smiled.

"Yes. Did you see him die?" Michael's impetuously delivered statement caught Sara off guard.

"...No-no, I did-didn't." She stuttered.

"That's what I thought." His mysterious comment made her question.

"Why do you ask?" Sara stood up and began to make her way to the kitchen.

"I was going to keep this from you, but I need answers. I received this letter from Boulder, Colorado. A prison named Bird Son Prison." He handed her the letter; Sara's hand shook abruptly and her eyes felt like they were going to fall out of her sockets.

"What?"

"Read the letter, mom. And tell me if this sounds like my father. Tell me everything I need to know about him."

She murmured along with the word written in the letter and began hyperventilating uncontrollably. Her vision doubled and she fainted on the kitchen floor. An hour later, she woke to see Lincoln, Sofia, Sucre, Alex, and Michael Jr at her bedside. She had an ice pack on her forehead.

"Slow down, mom." Michael gently pushed her back so she could lay down.

"... it's Michael. It's your father..."

"I can second that." Lincoln said, "I had given up on thinking I'd ever get out of Fox River... and, and Michael, he told me when we were in the church of the prison... _"just have a little faith"_..." Lincoln's voice cracked and tears streamed down his cheek; he didn't hid it, "It's Michael... I know it."

"...Lincoln, how could that be?" Sara stressed.

"How could it not be? My father is out there, and alive."

"Now hold on, let's not presume it's Michael. Maybe, maybe it's one of the old card holders that worked with the general trying to flush us out because we knew about sylla. Maybe, he finally wants to kill us off." Alex questioned.

"Sylla? What's that? Who's the general?" A large sigh filled the room.

"It's a long story-" Alex began.

"-I've got time." Suddenly, Michael's phone rung, "Olly, I can't go. I've got a family emergency to attend to."

"Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine. I'll talk to you later." Michael hung up and flamed into Alex's worried eyes, "Tell me about what I'm up against."

"Up against?!" Sara plunged up. Michael ignored her.

"... Sylla was like the 9th level of hell for us. At first, we thought it was just The Company's little black book. But we found it contained so much more than that."

"What did it contain?"

Alex glanced at Sara and back at Michael, "It contained information like solar cell prototyping, a way for bio-engineered crops to subsist in the harshest of climates, and revolutionary vaccines... that kind of information caused an all out war between us and them. But your father, he was the only piece of retribution we had. He saved our lives amongst the many others on this planet..."

"And who's the general?" Michael folded his arms, waiting for more answers.

"... The general. Jonathan Krantz was his name. He was the leader of The Company we took down. Sick bastard... it couldn't be him trying to smoke us out... he's dead. He died by electrocution." Alex sat down at the edge of the bed and traveled down memory lane.

"... Michael, I think you should let Alex take care of this." Lincoln suggested.

"My father is out there. Do you really expect me to kick back and snack on burritos while my father is in prison?" He snapped fiercely, "I'm going to find him. And I'm going to get him."

"None of us can enter the United States again. We'd be arrested on site..."

"I can. I'm not a fugitive..."

"Michael, you're not leaving!" Sara's deafening shout ceased all movement in the room, "I am not going through that again... I-I can't lose my son. I've lost your father... I can't lose you." Tears poured out of her eyes like rain.

"... I'm going to find him, mom. And I'm bringing him home." He held her in his arms. Sara clung onto him.

"Michael... please don't." She begged.

"I'm going... and Alex is going to help me." He glared at Alex, messaging him through eye contact.

* * *

><p>"Michael... are you sure you want to do this?"<p>

Michael's deadpan and stoic response made Alex continue delivering him the information on the prison.

"Christ... you can't really be going through with this! Your father fought to save your life!" Lincoln scolded.

"Damn right he did! And he fought to save this family's life. Don't think for a second, he wasn't calling out for help-"

"-After 19 years?! Come on, Michael."

"Maybe, he wanted to take the heat off of the Scofield name." Alex advised.

"Uncle Linc, I'm going to get my father. That's all you need to know."

"Let him, Lincoln." Sara stated, while she clutched onto her golden colored shawl, "He'll be back."

"... I'll need a new identity. Alex, do you think you can get me one?"

"Yeah, cut your hair first."

"I've always wanted to be a John."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Reviews Please! Thanks! :)<strong>_


	3. Slowly but Surely

With weary eyes, he stared at the mahogany painted front door; a cute doorbell button that said "press me" rested on the left side, gracefully. He took a mental photo of the front door. Michael knew it'll be a long journey before returning back to that house. Finally, he rung the bell and released a profound exhale.

A female with a stature of five feet tall opened the door, her burnished brown eyes reveled into his turquoise eyes.

"Effie..." He said earnestly.

"Michael, how-how are you?" She stumbled to grasp the pieces of herself she dropped once she looked into his enrapturing eyes.

"Mixed. I'm a combination of things..."

She paused and opened the door wider for him to enter.

"I thought you ran off somewhere. It's been two weeks since I last heard from you. I know you've been busy." She folded her pretty pudgy arms, and followed him into the modest, intimate living room. The walls were painted in an earthy forest green color, photos of different beaches and sunsets decorated the walls, the love seat was a mellow tone of beige which rested in front of the window and faced the 32 inch flat screened television. He relished himself in the days where he'd skip a day from school to spend her day off from work on the couch, affectionately holding each other.

"Yes, I've been very busy. I made honor roll and I have the treasury position in the student government." He replied, with dry humor.

"That's great hear but I know you're being sardonic."

He shimmered his "enthusiastic" eyes down.

"... I was beginning to think it was the age difference between; with me being seven years older than you and all. I figured you didn't want this anymore." She gestured her delicate hand at the space between them.

"Effie, I want this. I want this more than you think..." They took a seat on the couch.

"What's going on, Michael?"

"... I received a letter. The letter was signed by my father."

"I-I thought he died before you were born?" She frowned.

"I thought so, too. Apparently, he's in a maximum security prison in Colorado... the letter was like a hidden message, like he was trying to tell me something."

Effie's warm fingers brushed his trickling brown hair back.

"Michael, baby, what do you plan on doing about this?" Her salacious utterance nearly turned him on but he stayed onto the topic at hand.

"I'm going to find him... I'm going to-" Michael stopped himself to think, should he tell her what his plans really were? What if she talks? Can he trust her with this information? He knew none of the answers and he knew something bad would have had to happen to find out if she was truly the one he could confide in.

"I'm just so... tied up right now-"

"-Lost in translation." She hummed a soothing tone and held his head in her arms.

"Yes... lost in translation. You smell so good." He inhaled vigorously and clinched onto her arms.

They savored the moment of intimacy like a piece of chocolate that swirl around your mouth, cautiously, and embracing the taste of the sweetening flavor.

Effie lifted his head.

"When are you leaving?" She asked in her thick latin voice.

"Two days from now... you don't have work tomorrow, do you?"

She shook her head.

"Do you want to come over? My mom's cooking..."

Effie pulled back from him with a sense of puzzlement. They had been seeing each other since Michael was 17 and he never insisted on taking her to meet his mother. She figured because she was much older than him and he didn't want to cause any trouble. Effie never expected him to be so brash with the decision to meet his mother, she thought she'd have to wait till he was 30 to meet the one woman he loved more than her.

"This is really random, Michael." She blurted out.

"I know. It is. Especially since I've kept you away from knowing anything about me for two years. I understand how awkward it is, but... Effie, I really would like for you to come."

Effie peered at him, wearily, enervated.

"You dropped a bomb on me, Michael. Does your mother know anything about me?"

"No. Just that you were coming over tonight."

She plunged up from the couch.

"What?! Why'd you ask me to come over if you made the decision for me?! I didn't even get a say in this."

"Effie, I'm sorry... I'm going through some shit at the moment and I just really want for you to be there with me. I want my family to know you... before I leave."

She brushed her hair behind her hair.

"You make it sound like you're never coming back..."

Michael stayed silent and peered at the polished floor in contemplation.

"I'll get ready." She hopped up and made her way up the steps. Michael continued in a statis like mindset as he wondered if he would come back. What he'd encounter? Who he'd encounter? He had questions that he tried not to question out of fear he'd hold back from continuing the mission. He had Alex and that was a dependable enough source for him.

After a few minutes, Effie came down the steps in a beautiful floral styled sundress, sandals, and her hair loose, traveling down her lower back.

"Lovely, truly lovely." He gently kissed her hand and pulled her into a deep kiss.

* * *

><p>Resting on his king sized bed, Alex casually flipped through the book "To Kill a Mockingbird" by Harper Lee. He had been trying to read that book for the past 20 minutes but he couldn't muster up the concentration since he found out about the letter.<p>

Suddenly, his cell phone vibrated and he dove to answer it.

"Alex Mahone speaking."

Silence.

"Hello?"

Static.

"Hello, hello?" Usually, Alex would have hung up by now, but something compelled him to stay on.

"Alex."

"Is-is that you?"

"Da." He answered in russian.

"How, how are you making this call right now?"

"Podklyucheniye." Alex knew what that meant which was a connection.

"I know you don't have much time, so tell me what needs to be told."

"Kletka: odin, tri. Ofitser Lin." He heard the phone shut off and Alex wrote down everything he remembered from the conversation in the back of his book.

_Michael began taking apart the inexpensive track phone, piece by piece.  
>Taking a moment, he stopped himself to a constant thought of how beautiful the sight of his son would be and the embrace of Sara's bosom would feel like.<br>__His plan should, could, and would not fail. _


	4. Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood

Sara gazed at her son with pride in her eyes as she watched him cleanse the plates in the sink. Sipping from her glass of wine, she walked over to him and placed an innocent peck on the side of his cheek; she stopped reaching his cheek three years ago so she settled with his neck instead.

"You like her." Michael's smile shined from the side of his face as he continued focusing on scratching the sturdy chicken particle off the plate.

"Very much... the age difference doesn't concern me. Besides, you were never interested in anyone your age. I was well aware of it when you were 7."

"Really?"

"Really. You were always a little stud to the older women in the park. They said you had bedroom eyes." Sara beamed, almost as if she had been seeing a scene of Michael sweet talking the housewives in the park.

"Well, I guess it was inevitable."

Sara grew quiet and took a seat at the kitchen table. Her fingers pressed her temples and she felt a migraine coming on from the thought of Michael, Sr. The abrupt silence caused Michael to turn to his mother. He dried his hands, leaving a few dishes in the sink, and sat across from her.

Sara raised her attention to him; her watery eyes pierced into his.

"... Michael, I know this is all happening so fast." She leaned back in the chair, arms folded, "This is out of the blue. I mean, here I am: a mother, a simple office clerk, a single woman... I had gotten through that part of my life. Those hurdles, all of that running and fear, paranoia; I had gotten through that. I made the rest of my life out to protect and raise you the best way I could. And... it's all side blinding. To find-to find your father is still alive."

She finally broke down into tears. Effie nearly walked into an uncomfortable situation had she not been careful on her toes. Sliding away from the opening of the kitchen, she stood on the outside and overheard their conversation.

Michael's stillness cause Sara's sobbing to slow down. With ferocious, savage powered conviction, Michael's glare almost frightened Sara. In that moment, her son looked exactly like Michael. The same jaw structure, stern contemplative stare, same lip curving, and the exact pose as Michael.

"I'll bring him back."

Finally breaking his sight from the floor, he peered at Sara.

"I'll bring him back."

And to Effie, it all made sense now.

* * *

><p>Double checking the lens, Alex made sure that the camera was prepared. The necessary tools: a razor, glasses, new clothes, finger printing machine, and amongst other things were spread out on the living room table in Alex's three story home. An authoritative knock came from the door and Alex knew who it was.<p>

Alex looked up to Michael towering over him with a grin that said "let's do this."

"Hey kid." Alex welcomed him into the basement and closed the door swiftly. Peeling off his jacket, Michael tossed it on Alex's suede couch and pulled off his shoes: shoes must come off on the property of Alex Mahone. Feng shui reasons.

"You've been busy." Michael said, pointing out the obvious.

"Yes. We have a ton of things we have to adjust-"

"-Like becoming a fraud." He smirked.

"Yes, precisely. Okay, first thing's first, take this."

Michael's eyes grew wide at the sight of the scissors and hair clippers.

"... Cutting my hair? Short or.. or all of it?" He gulped with a hint of pain.

"All of it."

"Alex... I can't just trim it a bit? I really have to cut all of it off?"

The story behind Michael's hair is:  
>He began growing it at the age of 17.<br>With love and nourishment, he successfully grew his hair to the middle of his back.  
>Though curly and unruly, he adores his hair.<br>And this will be a very difficult task.

"No. We need a whole different you. I know you get all the ladies with that hair but, duty calls." Shrugging his shoulders, Alex jogged off and Michael watched the tie of his robe swing back and forth; for some reason that irritated him more.

Deep sighs and strenuous steps, he found his way to the bathroom and locked himself inside. He knew if he hadn't, he would want to try to negotiate with Alex to at least keep one strain of hair on his head. Armed with willpower and force, Michael bullied himself into plugging in the hair clippers. He pulled his luscious locks out of the bun and shook his head.

"... Here's to you, dad."

He began butchering his hair. After, an hour in the bathroom, Michael's arrival finally came.

"Done..." Alex turned to the young man standing in the archway of the kitchen. He pulled his glasses to his eyes and the sight of Michael took his breath away. A spinning image of his father.

"It's almost as if I'm looking at a ghost..." He uttered out with a dried tongue.

"I can imagine." He said, peeling his shirt off and grabbing an apple from the basket of fruits.

"Michael... everyone's trying really hard to be strong. And... it's even more difficult for you because you have to go through this. I just want you to know-"

Michael's friendly hands rested on Alex's shoulders.

"Alex, you were one of the three men in my life since birth. I know you're here for me no matter what. Your loyalty isn't what I'm concerned about. I'm concerned about how I'm going to get over the death of my hair." He joked.

"Ha-ha, in high school, I had long locks. It twisted me up in the inside to cut it all off, but I had to."

"At least you get it."

* * *

><p>Michael's "go screw yourself" face glared back at the camera as Alex snapped a few photos.<p>

"What do you want your last name to be?"

"... Montgomery."

"John Montgomery." Alex typed in the computer the name and it gave him a sense of the kind of demeanor Michael would have.

"You're a correctional officer. A new recruit at the prison with 5 years of correctional experience in Arkansas. You're born and raised in Little Rock, Arkansas. 29 years old. A sister in New York City. And you're a Reno 911! fan." Michael smirked as he reread everything on the screen of Alex's computer.

"I feel the John simmering up inside of me."

"We're starting you off with $40,000 in your account-"

"You can do that?"

"Already did." Alex said, pounding down on the enter button.

"How much trouble can you be in for this?"

"Death sentence."

"Spectacular."

"Your flight leaves tomorrow morning. And I'm almost done setting you up. I'll be coming to Colorado a month after you arrive so it wouldn't look so suspicious. My seventy-six year old aunt lives there." The printer worked it's magic and Michael laid his eyes on his new ID and social security card.

* * *

><p>Lincoln, Sofia, and Sara stared with astonishment at the very existence of Michael.<p>

"... I guess the expressions on your faces explains enough." He tried to lighten the mood.

Sara broke down into tears but she managed to break out a joyful laugh with a side of smiles.

Lincoln rose to Michael and hugged him with a ridiculously tight grip. After a few moments, Lincoln pulled back and scanned every crevasse on Michael's face.

"... I see you and I know I'll see my brother again."

"... Damn right. You damn right."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks guys! I plan on setting up a song play list for all the sections of this story. If you're interested you can find it on my profile by this week Sunday. Reviews are greatly appreciated! <strong>


	5. Touching Down

In the early morning darkness, Michael scratched the crust out of his eyes as he stared down to find Sucre's truck outside the house. He had already been dressed with his denim boot cut jeans, dark blue t-shirt, and a light hoodie. Sucre had been assigned to drive Michael to the airport. Sara and Lincoln sat in the living room going through the photos of baby Michael.

With his substantial duffel bag over his lean left shoulder, he swayed his way into the living room and kissed his mother's forehead. She clung onto him and this time she didn't cry. She knew she needed to be strong for him. Michael gave Lincoln a tenacious hug.

No words were said.

He tossed his bag in the back of the truck, slipped in the passenger seat and Sucre drove off.

"... It kills me that I can't come with you." Being that Sucre is Michael's godfather and he practically raised him with Sara, the fact he couldn't protect Michael when he needed him the most made Sucre have sleepless nights.

"I know... but I need you to try not to worry." His energy had seem awkwardly calm, peaceful, "I need you to know that I'll be back... we'll be back."

Sucre glanced at him, unsure.

"Can you do that for me?" Michael's eyes connected with his and Sucre couldn't deny him.

"...Yeah. Yeah I can."

"Thank you."

* * *

><p>They arrived at the airport and Michael had 20 minutes until his flight took off. Sucre followed him until they reached the metal detectors.<p>

"I have two connecting flights so it'll take me a while. Uncle Alex is coming to Colorado in a month, so I won't be totally alone."

"Yeah... but we're not there to help..."

"Due to circumstances... circumstances I understand."

"Mikey... te quiero." Embracing each other, Sucre felt like he was letting go of his own child. The boy he remembered decided to take a man's approach to the situation at hand and Sucre had to respect that. Saying bye meant that he'd never see Michael again and so Sucre avoided that word.

"Te quiero, Tio Sucre."

Sucre ripped himself from Michael, placed a loving kiss on the cheek and saw him off. He held onto the sight of Michael's tall clouting walk, the way the bag rested on his back, and the back of his shaved head.

Michael didn't look back in fear he'd turn back.

* * *

><p>He did all the necessary procedures that they required. Without hesitation, Michael handed his ID card and they scanned it.<p>

Scanning...

Scanning...

Scanning...

Cleared.

The guard nodded and Michael threw a bright smile his way as he took his identification.

"Gracias."

Looking out the meager window, his iron sky-blue stony eyes traced the ground as it sped up. His father's still-standing existence had sent a rippling affect of lacerations to the reality that Michael once thought he knew. Anxiety and trepidation twisted in the pits of his hungry stomach as he leaned his head back, trying to settle the battle in his body. Closing his eyes, he plugged the headphones into his ears and tuned into the melody of the Broods's "Mother & Father".

The song's lyrics spoke the impeccable abhorrence he felt when he swam in his thoughts.

* * *

><p>After nearly 48 hours of traveling, jet leg punched Michael throughout his body like a UFC wrestler. With Michael being a "American citizen", the foreigner interrogation he would have endured was deleted and it saved him a ton of time and energy he needed. Hopping in the cab, he fumbled in his bag and found the list that Alex wrote for him. On it, was the address of the apartment Alex had set up for him.<p>

"54 Fulton Broadway."

The cab driver nodded and took off.

"Long trip huh?" Asked the white bearded old man.

"You have no idea. 32 hours of traveling and airport burgers. That alone can take a lot out of you." Michael scoffed.

"I can imagine! I'm glad all I do is drive."

"How long have you been a cab driver?"

The old man chuckled, "I'm not a cab driver."

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews are greatly appreciated! <strong>


	6. New in Town

Those words hit Michael like a scene out of Pulp Fiction. He threw an intensified glower through the mirror at the old man. Unlike anyone else who caught the acclaimed "Scofield Scowl", it didn't seem to phase the old friendly looking man. Instead, he stared back.

"Who are you?" Michael finally asked after a few moments of awkward silence.

"... Alex was not kidding. You really look do like your father."

Michael ignored the man's comment.

"I asked you a question."

"Alex hired me. And... I retired from being a killer six years ago. I'm pushing seventy-four, kid. So take it easy."

Leaning back in the seat, Michael toned his energy down but he didn't break his attention.

"Name?" He asked, dispassionately.

"Name's Harry. It is truly an honor to meet you, Mr. Scofield." Harry's chubby old hand reached back to Michael's; like a gentleman, Michael shook back.

"Likewise, Harry..."

Michael paused.

"And why is it an honor to meet me?" Everything had him questioning.

"You're the son of Scofield. The Michael Scofield. He went down in history... the man's a genius. He's a villain in the public's eyes but he's a hero and a weapon to anyone in power."

"I'm guessing he's working for the government?"

"Nope. They tried to offer him a job but he refused. Your father said he just wanted to do his time in peace. But, they never stopped. Kept throwing deals here and there but Michael still wouldn't give in."

Michael jeered.

"... Well, as much as I like you already Harry, trust from me isn't in your future."

Harry bolted into a Santa Clause like laugh.

"Well, you better start learning. Because I'm in on the break."

* * *

><p>They arrived at the extensive six-story building that lived on the corner of Broadway and Fulton street. Examining the suburban-like environment, Michael looked up and down the block and only 4 people were around. The silent neighborhood creeped him out a bit but it gave him a sense of clarity. A ran down Spanish deli store rested on the corner diagonal from him, and an elderly woman rocked back and forth in her rocking chair that looked like any moment it could collapse on itself, peered at him through her bi-focal glasses. Her golden retriever obediently perched next to her, grilling Michael as well.<p>

Michael hesitantly waved at her and forced an uncomfortable smile.

She smiled and waved back at him. Michael was surprised.

"Here." Harry handed him a large orange envelope from his car window, "Phone, keys, and $400. Alex said to call him when you enter the apartment."

"Prepaid phone?"

"Correct. But, I perked it up so you can make a phone call to anyone and it won't be tracked or heard."

With eyebrows raised, Michael was definitely impressed.

"Are you really seventy-four years old?" He joked.

"Last time I checked, yeah." Harry smirked, "You have work a week from now and I'll be driving you. If you need me, my number is in there under the name: Santa."

"Ha ha, okay... thanks Harry." They shook hands.

"No problem, Junior. Can I call-"

"Yes. You can call me Junior." He replied with an affable beam.

"Take care of yourself." Harry drove off and Michael opened the envelope, dung in and found the keys. The building's interior was quite simple; the lobby was spacious, no doorman or security, mailboxes to the right, elevator straight ahead, and staircase to the left. A polished chandelier, that looked like it had been there for 40 years, had hung from the ceiling mutely.

Michael never liked elevators; he'd walk up 40 flights before he decided to take an elevator. Well, maybe not 40, but you get the point.

He made it to the 6th floor in a flash. The hallway walls were painted a solid creme color and the fluorescent lights beamed down at him, causing him to squint a bit. His apartment was right next to the staircase.

**Apartment 6A**

With curious eyes, he opened the door to discover a renovated, slickly decorated, roomy living room on the left of him with an exterior patio, a spacious dining room and the kitchen light had been on.

"Hello?" He called out.

No answer.

Closing the door behind him, he dropped his bag to the glossy wooden floor and scanned the apartment. Ahead of him was the short hallway, and to his left was a closet that had a brand new washing machine and dryer. As he walked further, on the right of him was a bathroom and when he continued, he found a bedroom and a master bedroom with a king sized bed. Both rooms were ridiculously generous and beautifully dressed up.

"Whoa..." Michael said, amazed.

He pulled out his phone and called Alex. After one ring, Alex answered.

"How do you like it?"

"I'm staring at this bed that looks like I can have 4 dogs, food and 7 hookers on it and still have space. So, yeah, I'm liking it."

Alex chuckled.

"Why didn't you bless me with this when I was 10? I could have been living it up right now." Michael bantered, while making his way back to the patio.

"You're right, that makes me a terrible uncle."

"Yes, exactly." He opened the patio doors and noticed how beautiful the scenery was.

"Your uniform is in the closet, there's no food in the fridge; that's what the money's for, and your account card is in the envelope. You need to get familiar with people and the area. Take walks, talk to the store owner across the street, you need to show face. If you're laying low, you'll make a suspicious impression."

"Be selectively social. Got it... are you with mom?" He asked, voice a bit bleak.

"I'm heading over to the house now. Lincoln's there with Sofia. They want to keep her company. I've got to let you go, I'm driving. I'll shoot you a call when I get there."

They hung up, and Michael turned his attention to the one thing he wasn't good at: socializing.

* * *

><p>He pulled his sneakers off his feet, and released his brawny muscular body from his shirt.<p>

"So, this is what it's like to have your own place." He turned his attention to the speaker system that had been resting next to the 42 inch flat screened television. Michael connected his Ipod to the stereo and raised the volume as the sounds of Earth, Wind, & Fire throbbed through the speakers and Kenny G's soothing jazzy saxophone vibes danced into his ears. Michael had been a fan of Kenny G since he was 7. Lincoln introduced him to his music and ever since then, Michael loved it.

Unanticipatedly, he heard a knock at the door. Circumspectly, he peered through the peak hole and found that it was a woman. Senselessly, he swung the door open and the attractive woman's eyes looked like it was going to burst out her sockets at Michael's appearance. It was like the door opened the world to her wildest venereal fantasies and it poured out all from one person. Her lips looked like it shriveled up in an instance and she clenched, stiffly, onto the plate that had been covered with saran wrap.

"Hey." Michael's provocative articulation directed shivers down her collared bone and into her stomach.

"Hi-hi." She stuttered.

Awkward silence.

"My name's Mi-." He caught himself abruptly and coughed off his mistake, "Sorry, I think I'm coming down with something. John. My name's John."

"Melody. My name's Melody." She said, not lowering her eyelids. Michael wasn't sure how she'd react if he shook her hand; would she act like a person or would she faint.

She shot her eyes down to the plate and stuck it out.

"This is for you. A welcoming gift." Michael slowly took the plate from her and smiled, gently.

"Thank you, I really appreciate it."

"You're-you're welcome. I have to to go." She rushed off like a little girl.

"Wait!" Michael called to her; she stopped, "Which apartment do you live in?"

"Um, 6G..."

"Cool... well, it was nice meet you, Melody." Before closing the door, he tossed a salacious winked and she gasped.

He pulled off the foil and saw a mountain of chocolate cupcakes. He shoved the cupcake whole into his mouth.

"Hm, this is good."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading everyone, and reviews are always appreciated!<strong>


	7. Can't Get a Break

**_Bird Son Prison: Dr. Harris _**

**_"How are you feeling today Michael?" Asked the elderly doctor as he took a much needed exhalation. _**

**_"Like I usually do, doc... just fine." Michael said in a flat, detached utterance. _**

**_"And the medication? How has it been treating you?" He sat across from the now, grizzly bearded Michael Scofield Sr. He was unrecognizable; like he became someone else. But the scowl was still apparent._**

**_"Like they usually do, doc... just peachy." He said; resisting eye contact._**

**_A hefty sigh fell out of the doctor's mouth._**

**_"I.. don't know why I ask you the same question over and over when I know I'll get the same answer..." He said, clueless._**

**_"Because it's set in your daily routine, George. You do the same exact actions as you did yesterday and the day before and the day before and it'll continue until the day you die. That's why." Michael's unemotional response actually had George thinking._**

**_"... Let's not turn this about me."_**

**_"You asked an indirect question, wanting a direct answer." _**

**_"... are you still reading that book?" He changed the subject._**

**_"I finished it."_**

**_"How-how can that be? You just started it two days ago."_**

**_"What can I say? A life sentence will make you read." _**

**_"... Will there ever be progress, Michael?"_**

**_Buried underneath his gray spotted beard, grew a contemptuous sneer. _**

**_"Progress has never ceased."_**

_**Suddenly, the door opened and the bulky, belly bloated, Officer Lin appeared with a grin.**_

_**"Sorry for interrupting Doctor Harris, the warden wants to see you after your done." He replied with his thick South Carolina accent.**_

_**"Okay, thank you Officer Lin." **_

_**"No problem." **_

_**Doctor Harris turned his attention back to Michael who had been staring right at him. **_

_**"... Is there something wrong?" He asked, nervously. **_

_**"Nothing... it just smells strange. Like liquor." He sniffed the air, heavily, "Like bourbon. I'd say Southern Comfort." **_

_**Dr. Harris's eyes began bulging, slightly frantically, **"How the hell does he know this?!" **He asked himself. **_

_**Clearing his voice, "Is there-is there anything you'd like to express to me?" Michael knew he was pulling for anything just to fill up the "session" that contributed nothing to him. **_

_**"I'm here, aren't I? Isn't that expressing enough?" The slow roll of his eyes and the way he sat in the chair, was extremely agonizing for Dr. Harris. **_

_**"Your feelings, Michael." George began feeling impatient. **_

_**"I'm fine. May I go?" **_

_**"Yes you may." **_

_**"Thank you." Michael shot up from his chair and scooted his way out with one of the officers. **_

_**"How have you been, Michael?" Asked, Officer Franklin.**_

_**"Doing just fine. Just waiting for my time to come." He threw a sly smirk.**_

_**"That's good to hear. Your time is on it's way." Opening Michael's cell, he assisted him inside, and removed the cuffs. **_

_**"13 o'clock, Officer Franklin. 13 o'clock." **_

_**Officer Franklin nodded, conspicuously. **_

_**Michael complied.**_

* * *

><p>Michael awoken from his slumber and stumbled to check the time on his phone: 6:34 PM.<p>

There had been several missed calls and numerous text messages left from his mother. He prepared himself for a full on cursing fest.

"Hey mom." He said, groggy.

"Michael! Why the hell haven't you been picking up your phone?!" She shouted. He knew she was pacing back and forth.

"I'm jet lagged, remember? I fell asleep. I'm sorry. The phone was on vibrate. I haven't adjusted it yet."

"Damn it, Michael. My clothes are packed... I was ready to head over there." Sara plopped on her bed and slowed her breathing.

"With your track record? The insanity on you mom is truly admirable. I bet your blood pressure must be off the charts." He said, releasing his urine and taking a much needed yawn.

"You don't even know... you don't even know."

"Mom, I'm okay. I'm actually pretty hungry. Uncle Alex gave me some money so I'm going to get some food."

"What time is it there?"

"6:36."

She groaned, "Michael, call for delivery. I don't want you out that late."

"Mom, the store is right across the street. I'll be fine." He laughed at how overprotective Sara was.

"Call me when you get there and call me when you get upstairs... And lock the door!"

"I can't lock the door mom, I have a thing for intruders." He gagged.

"Michael, I'm not joking." She warned, in a sturdy tone.

"Alright, alright mom. I'll do just as you say."

"I love you." She said, bleakly.

"I love you too."

Michael glanced at his lonely t-shirt and decided to just wear his sweater. Locking the door behind him, an older, alluring woman appeared down the hallway. She wore a silky lavender colored robe, her long legs yelled at him, and she flicked her wavy well-blown out hair behind her. Her green eyes attempted to enticed Michael from afar.

She winked at him before tossing her garbage down the incinerator.

Michael cracked a smirk and walked off into the staircase, not looking back.

_"What is it with these women? Are they always this sexually frustrated?" _He thought to himself.

Inside the store, the space was narrow but they had a lot of options. To his left was the clerk window and an old Spanish man sat behind puffing on a cigar. They glanced at each other.

Vitamin water, sugar, milk, Captain Crunch (2 boxes), oatmeal, syrup, pancake mix, and chips.

Placing the items on the counter, the old man gradually stood up and began counting how much everything would come up to.

"New here?" He asked in a broad Cuban accent while adjusting his glasses.

"Yeah. I just touched down this morning."

"Where you from?"

"Arkansas. Little Rock to be exact."

"You look a little too dark to be from Arkansas. You look like an angel eyed Indian." Michael titled his head.

"Angel eyed Indian? Why do you say that?"

"Your eyes say gringo but not your skin... how was the flight here?" He asked, bagging up the groceries yet not breaking eye contact with Michael.

"Bearable..." Michael glanced at the cat that relaxed, shamelessly, in the corner next to him.

"Ah... name's Santiago. Call me Santi." They cordially shook hands.

"John... so, how long have you been working here Santi?"

"24 years to be exact. So, what brings you to this quiet part of America?" He analyzed Michael's bodily movements intensely.

"Work. Applied for a correctional officer position and got it."

"Congratulations. You look like you'll be a great fit for that position."

Michael grinned.

"Thanks. Your cat looks vicious." He pointed and collected the bags from the counter.

"He is. He's been in a lot of fights with cats... dogs... people." He gagged.

"Than that's not a cat. It's a bodyguard."

Santi laughed.

"Hey, would you like to come by this weekend? My wife's having a tambor."

"Sure."

Santi's eyes widen in amusement.

"Are you Spanish?" He asked.

"No."

"If you weren't, you'd ask me what a tambor was." Santi's grayed out eyebrows crinkled.

"My girlfriend's Panamanian."

Santi nodded his head in understanding.

"Ah, I see. Well if you can make it, come by this Friday. And, take a six pack."

Michael's face flicked into bewilderment.

"Are- are you sure?"

"Positive. Just come to the back of the store and tell em' Santi sent you. Friday, 9:00 PM." Michael shuffled to the back and grabbed the box of six pack.

They locked eyes before Michael exited.

_"I wonder if everyone else is as nice as Santi." _He inquired.

* * *

><p>He entered the apartment and settled in the groceries. Instead of calling his mother, he just shot her a text message; he didn't feel like being interrogated.<p>

Cracking open his father's book of notes on the lustrous wooden floor and sipping on an iced cold Modelo, Michael's agleam baby blues browsed the stacks of information on bioengineering and structural engineering Michael Sr had savored. He began feeling like he was his father's pupil. The notes, that he never chose to read, spiced up a considerable amount of respect as well as adoration for his predecessor. He was truly impressed.

And he was truly somber. Impressed and somber all together.

His tear ducks began wetting and tears that he held back since he was seven years old force pushed out of his eyes like a water hose on a steaming summer's day. Unexpectedly and deeply, the feeling of profound sadness for what his father had gone through and how much he's sacrificed for the ones he loved made him feel like he had to redeem that ticket for Michael Sr.

He just wanted everything to be okay.

And he knew he was in the perfect position to adjust the pieces to how it was supposed to be; how his father worked for it to be.

* * *

><p>In the dead of night, Michael heard an alarming knock at the door. Hurdling over the thick sheets of the bed, he hopped out and carefully jogged on the balls of his feet to the kitchen. He opened the draw and pulled out a massive knife. Not turning the lights on, his left eye skimmed through the hole. Two large black men were on the other side.<p>

"Open up Michael. We know you're in there." Called out the resonant voice.

_"Shit, can't I get a break?"_ Michael stressed.

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews Please. If you guys know any actors that resemble Wentworth Miller aka Michael Scofield Sr, please let me know! More inspiration for this story would be delightful. And as always, thank you for reading. <strong>


	8. The Men at the Door

**_2009_**

**_"What about Kai? Do you like that name?" Sara asked before plunging herself onto the couch next to Michael._**

**_"I like it. But I like Jim more." _**

**_Sara was taken aback._**

**_"Jim?"_**

**_"Yes, Jim." He continued reading from his book. _**

**_"Why Jim?" She squinted._**

**_"It's simplicity. For a while, our lives were filled with complications. I'd like for him to symbolize simplicity."_**

**_Sara paused and placed a misty kiss on his cheek._**

**_"How about Michael?" She asked, eyes flirting. _**

**_"I'd hate to sound pretentious but, Michael sounds perfect." _**

**_Lips colliding, they laughed into each other's mouths. _**

**_Bird Son Prison- Present Day_**

**_Michael snapped out of his thoughts and continued reading the words on the page. _**

**_Suddenly, he heard a tough knock at his cell door._**

**_"He's here..." said Miles. _**

**_Michael's eyes gleamed with optimism._**

* * *

><p>Michael hesitated to speak.<p>

"Friend or foe?" He called out, mouth dried.

"Friend." They answered back.

Michael grabbed his phone and called Alex.

"Hello?" Alex's voice sounded dried.

"There's two guys outside my door." Michael whispered.

"What do they look like?" Alex fixed his glasses and jolted out the contentment of his bed.

"Black. One large, one short."

"Ask for names."

"... Okay." Michael asked.

"Chris Franklin. Call me C. I was a friend of your father's."

"He says his name is Chris Frank-" Alex interrupted.

"-Open the door. He was a friend of your father's years ago. Chris wasn't supposed to come so early." He stressed.

Michael adhered to Alex, switched the light on and opened the door. The lights screeched at him and he squinted in retaliation.

"Come in."

The two men cautiously entered. A beam sprouted on Chris's face.

"It's almost as if I'm looking at a mirror image." He chuckled and put his hands on his hips in disbelief.

"I've been getting that a lot." Michael turned his attention to Alex, "I'll talk to you later." He hung up and sat in silence, watching the men from the marbled kitchen island counter.

"So, I'm guessing you guys are in on the break as well?"

"Yes, yes we are." Chris sighed.

"Want a beer?"

The two men nodded and Michael gestured for them to take a seat on the living room couch. He returned from the kitchen with the two beers and generously handed it to them. They thanked him.

"So here's the deal, my brother, Miles here is working in the Prison where your father is. He'll be giving you the scoop, showing you around, you know the whole nine yards. This will be a very careful and time consuming job. It took your father months to break me out-"

"-So you were apart of the Fox River 7?"

"Yeah, I was. Your father broke me out... and now I'm here to return the favor."

Michael's eyes grew low.

"Thank you." He said, sincerely.

"... Anything for an old friend. Just not jail time." He gagged.

"Understandable..."

"Which is why I'm helping from afar."

"I'll be your guide. I've been working there for a good year now, scoping out the place." Miles chimed in.

"Alex is flying in next month and Harry is going to hold down the fort while we wait for him to touch down." Chris sounded like he trying to sell Michael drugs, "Now, there's a meet up behind Reynard's factory 14 blocks from here."

"Headquarters."

"Yeah. This took us two years to devise and... your father developed the plan."

Michael chuckled while getting up to stretch his back.

"Not even maximum security can stop this man."

"Not even maximum security." Chris repeated with a gleam.

For the next hour or so, they spoke about the plan and eventually the conversation trickled down to Michael.

"... Your father's a hero."

"I know. I've heard the stories but I've never met the legend..."

"He wasn't sure if you'd come." Miles blurted out from his silence. Michael peered at him.

"Why?"

"He was concerned that you might be pissed off at him or something... but, I told him, you never know."

Michael stared into space and began wondering how his father's hands might feel.

"... I'm curious. What do you guys get out of it?" Michael looked up at them, equally.

"Your father saved my life. I get the satisfaction of saving his."

Michael stayed in silence.

"... Listen, we'll get out of your way. I'm sure you have some sleeping to do." They stood up and Michael shook their hands.

They said their goodbyes and Michael discreetly closed the door.

_"Money could be the only reason he's doing this. There's no way he was close with my father... if he was, he'd be in my life." _He said to himself.

* * *

><p>Back in Panama, Sara kept herself busy by cleaning around the house and avoiding somber music. She blasted authentic Panamanian music and vacuumed meticulously. Sofia and Lincoln stormed into the house; it had been the third time that day they were arguing.<p>

_"Oh God, what could it be now?" _Sara mumbled to herself.

"I saw you looking at her, Lincoln!" Sofia cried.

"I told you, I was looking at that old man painting! Not her!" He fired back. Lincoln figured he'd take Sofia out so they could spend much needed quality time; he began wishing he never came up with that idea.

"You're still lying!"

"What's wrong?" Sara intervened. Suddenly Sofia broke down into tears. The veins on Lincoln's neck bulged out; he felt his sanity fleeting from him.

"Come Sofia, you should take it easy." Sara escorted her to the living room and sat her down. Then she made her way into the kitchen where Lincoln was gulping down a beer.

"Lincoln, you have to try to be patient with her..."

Lincoln's eyes were bright red in anger.

"Sara, you have no idea. I try. You know I try."

"I know you do. But you can't break yourself up either. Slow your anger and then you can be patient with her. It's just hormones."

Lincoln dumped himself on the chair and held his strained head in his sweaty hands.

"... Have you spoken to Michael?"

"He texted me earlier. He's taking a walk around the neighborhood. Alex suggested he get familiar with the area." Sara took a seat across from him, twiddling her thumbs in consternation.

"... All this is happening out of nowhere." Lincoln huffed.

"It is. I'm just trying to stay strong. Michael's never been outside the country... I know it's a culture shock for him."

"Definitely. I miss him already."

"Me too."

* * *

><p>Finally back at the apartment after scoping out the alleyways, Michael ran into Miles who had been waiting for him downstairs in the lobby. He rose to his feet at the sight of Michael.<p>

"Hey. What's up?" He asked, placing his hands in his jogger pants pockets.

"Your father wanted me to give you this." Miles handed him a paper that had been folded up into a bird.

"Origami."

"That's all he does. He's gotten really good at it too."

"Thanks."

"No problem." Miles made his way to the door, "Hey, come by the headquarters tomorrow, say 7."

Michael nodded and Miles left.

He opened the little bird while walking up the steps. It said:

_You are to befriend Officer Lin who you'd find intriguing in an entertaining way.  
>Miles wanted to know if I'd like to see a photo of you but I declined; what's the sense when I'll see you soon.<br>Clair De Lune_

As he entered the apartment, he reread the note over, careful not to mess up the bird's wings.

_"Clair De Lune?"_ Michael questioned, _"The song." _

He searched for the song on the Internet of his phone and found it.

Michael sat in front of the speakers and indulged his ears to the tranquil sounds the piano made; he'd listen to the song repeatedly as a child and it never got old.

For his father to bring up that song, he was indeed his father's son.


End file.
